


Summer is Overrated

by Rosehip



Series: Ceilidh Tabris saves the Damn World [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Foot Massage, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 13:06:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11875125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosehip/pseuds/Rosehip
Summary: Zevran looked over with a calculating half-smile. “The two of you do look rather delicious, no?” His own bronze skin remained unmarked.Ceilidh's stomach did a flip. It should really have stopped doing that, by now, in response to every single flirtation. He flirts with everybody. Don't be like this, Tabris! Be cool. I can manage cool. "Keep talking like that and I'm going to follow you around so this cloud lands on you, too.” Close enough.He sauntered over, stopping only when they looked eye to eye. A strand of damp, blond hair trailed down his cheek. “Such is your idea of a threat? I must endure a lovely woman following me closely? I see I must instruct you in the ways of villainy or your enemies will surely laugh at you.”





	Summer is Overrated

The travelers camped by a secluded, spring fed quarry. Trees cast dappled, green shadows in the fresh water. The prospect of bathing and washing clothes tempted them all, even Alistair; until sunset.

At sunset, the mosquitoes erupted.

 _Yes,_ Ceilidh thought, slapping yet another pest. _Eruption is definitely the right word. Half the country on the move, and nobody else camped here? Should have known it was a trap._

Morrigan mashed up an herbal repellent balm for everyone else before becoming a wolf, but it didn't seem to work on Grey Wardens.

 _SLAP!_ Ceilidh winced as another welt rose on her neck. She shot a sympathetic look at Alistair, who itched furiously at what he could reach of his back.

Zevran looked over with a calculating half-smile. “The two of you do look rather delicious, no?” His own bronze skin remained unmarked.

Ceilidh's stomach did a flip. It should really have stopped doing that, by now, in response to every single flirtation. _He flirts with everybody. Don't be like this, Tabris! Be cool. I can manage cool. "_ Keep talking like that and I'm going to follow you around so this cloud lands on you, too.” _Close enough._

He sauntered over, stopping only when they looked eye to eye. A strand of damp, blond hair trailed down his cheek. “Such is your idea of a threat? I must endure a lovely woman following me closely? I see I must instruct you in the ways of villainy or your enemies will surely laugh at you.”

“Don't even think about instructing her in anything,” grumbled Alistair.

“Oh, but am I not sworn to serve her in all things? Should I deprive her of any of the ways in which I might be of use?” He pitched his voice softly, and his gaze remained on hers.

Ceilidh licked her lips and tucked her hands behind her back to stop herself from stroking his hair back from his face.

“Dinner's ready!” Leliana called from across the camp. Laughter tinged her voice.

Dinner was fun for neither Warden. Ceilidh and Alistair continued to slap at the infinite pests. Alistair shot death glares at Zevran, who retreated with an innocent and slightly affronted air. Morrigan refused to transform. Sten ignored them all with his usual stoicism. Dane scratched furiously, refused to leave the smoky side of the firepit, and also refused to eat. Leliana continued to regard them all with amusement, and Sandal murmured about “enchantment” perhaps a little more than usual.

“Fuck! I can't take it anymore,” Ceilidh shook her head furiously and scratched at her arms. “I'm going to bed.” She ducked into her tent and laced it shut as tight as it would go.

Slowly, everyone followed her example. The sounds of washing up diminished, replaced by crickets.

 

The tent closed in, turning the warm night air uncomfortably stuffy. Ceilidh removed the shirt she wore as night clothing, which clung to her from sweat. Half a bottle of the strongest wine they had on hand made her sleepy enough to drift off, but the archdemon's roar awaited her, jolting her awake. Did archdemons laugh? Ceilidh felt certain that if they did, theirs was.

Hours passed. The bugs died down some, but a few found their way in and noisily buzzed around. Ceilidh considered spelling whoever was on watch but felt too bleary to be of much use. The only non-animal noises in the camp came from the direction of Alistair's tent. A rustling and an occasional slap told Ceilidh that his situation hadn't changed, either.

Light footsteps approached the fire, and the person fed a log into it. A soft humming told Ceilidh that it was Leliana. Sounds of tea being made told her that morning approached. _Damn._ Everyone else still rested in apparent peace, including Zevran, who didn't have a tent, yet. _Bugs must not like the smell of his soap,_ thought Ceilidh. _I do, though. Maybe I should borrow it and they'll leave me alone._

The light in the tent grew brighter. Maybe that was another sign of morning. If so, the weather would be weird. The light looked a little greenish. Tomorrow night they would stay in an inn if they could, Ceilidh promised herself. Her eyes felt like dried currants. She stretched out and tried to quiet her mind to prepare for the fast approaching day as well as she could.

A soft rustle by the door of her tent made Ceilidh open her eyes once again. A figure perched above her. The scent of blended winter spices and leather reached her, and she realized the silhouette belonged to her assassin. _Her_ assassin? He hadn't actually killed her, so not in that sense, he wasn't. Ceilidh felt certain he thought of himself as belonging to her, though. Having never been his own person, the habit of thinking of himself as such was foreign. Ceilidh could see that clearly enough- but when did she start agreeing with him? Furthermore, why was he here and why wasn't she more alarmed by his presence?

The light fell on his face. He grinned down at her, and held his bare, empty hands out where she could see them, before resting them on her feet. Ceilidh wanted to ask what he was doing, but all she managed to do was think the question really hard. He seemed to understand, though, and hushed her. His hands began to stroke the soles of her feet. It felt so nice- comfortable, and warm. _Maybe I should invite him over to do this regularly,_ thought Ceilidh. _I might actually get some sleep, then, if this isn't just a way to get me to let my guard down. Who am I kidding? My guard's already way, way down. He'd never hurt me again, unless I betrayed him first._ A certainty accompanied that thought. Ceilidh relaxed further in the wake of it.

His pressure deepened. Knuckles circled the balls of her feet, pressed into her heels, kneaded and stretched her tendons. He took his time about it. A slow pulsing rhythm lulled Ceilidh into a warm, drifting state. As odd as she knew she should find this, it was fine. Everything was. She didn't even find it odd when the rogue lifted her foot to his lips and kissed the sole, just below her big toe. His eyes caught hers as he did, and a tingling deep within her responded.

She knew then that she wanted much more of him than this. His lips moved to her toes, and caressed them. Her hands made fists in her bedding in response. He flicked his tongue between her first and second toes, and Ceilidh did not understand how that felt so delightful. Kisses and kneading hands traveled up her calves, soothing both her frayed nerves and sore muscles. The sparks inside her shot higher.

 _Please,_ she thought, _Oh, please keep going._

The assassin chuckled softly, and planted a kiss on her inner thigh. His tongue darted out again to taste her skin. Ceilidh reached towards her sex, fingertip pressing inside. The assassin's hands slid up her smooth thighs, which brought him closer. He perched above her, finding her other hand, bringing her inner wrist to his lips. He then released it, and his hands joined her other, to guide her to find first the button within her folds, and then to curl deeper inside.

The pulsing rhythm of his earlier attentions to her feet returned. Ceilidh's breath caught. Something burst within her. She had not known anything to feel like this. She sighed with pleasure...

And opened her eyes to the true colors of dawn, alone and with the knot tied on the inside of her tent's door showing that she had been, all night.

**Author's Note:**

> So I leave you with a thought: blightmosquitoes. You're welcome.
> 
> Dreaming that you have insomnia just isn't fair, but I've had this happen several times myself.


End file.
